


Dear Lady Disdain

by Lirillith



Category: Long Live the Queen (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Magic, Marriage, Politics, Scheming, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21834418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirillith/pseuds/Lirillith
Summary: His new bride has made it abundantly clear how much power he holds, but that doesn't mean Banion's going to simply accept his place.
Relationships: Banion/Elodie (Long Live the Queen)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 38
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Runespoor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Runespoor/gifts).



Banion had given his natural son the spot in the wedding party on a whim, though he'd been considering how that information might serve his ends, of course. But he hadn't been fully fixed on revealing the truth to Elodie, not even when he compared his simple black garb and handful of attendants to her resplendent gown and battalion of bridesmaids; not until they withdrew into the private chamber after the service, reuniting the young flower boys and girls with their waiting mothers or nurses, and Brandon surprised everyone present by wrapping his arms around Banion's legs and beaming up at him happily. 

"Excellent work, my boy," Banion said, and ruffled his hair. The boy giggled, and his mother hooked her hands under his arms and hoisted him up. 

"I'm so sorry, he's been doing that lately," Emma said. She looked well; her new marriage must be agreeing with her.

And Banion, seized by inspiration, said, "It's sweet, really. I'm touched that he remembers me."

"Duke is happy!" Brandon exclaimed, and Emma shushed him, and the Duchess of Sudberg began marshaling the troops into formation to proceed to their next station, but Banion knew the seed had been planted. 

And it flourished. They were to step out onto a balcony, overlooking the city, to display Elodie's finery to the cheering masses, and the two of them were in a room alone, only to be joined by the rest of the wedding party later. The moment the door closed behind them, leaving them alone, she turned to him and asked, "Who was that adorable little boy? You knew him?"

"My natural son," he said lightly. Her eyes widened, her mouth forming a perfect O of surprise; she actually hadn't guessed? He'd thought there was some resemblance. "His mother was the head of the bookbinder's guild, so we met often, and we were fond of each other for a time. All in the past now, my dear."

"I wasn't worried about that," she said, so dismissively it irked him. A little jealousy wouldn't have gone amiss. "He looks to be... what, two or three?" 

"He turned three this spring." 

"He seems attached to you," Elodie said. "You see him relatively often?"

Where was this going? He'd just wanted to get in a quick jab of payback, not submit to an interview. "Now and then," he said, guarded. Emma brought him to visit every so often, perhaps once or twice a month; less frequently now that she was married. Banion would admit to feeling a touch of pride, much like he imagined an artisan might feel, at the transformation the boy had undergone from swaddled lump to miniature person, but even now that he was upright and verbal, he was still small, sticky, and completely fascinated with horsies. It wasn't as though they had much grounds for conversation. "I wouldn't call him attached to me." And why would their relationship be an issue, anyway? Banion didn't like that line of thought. "I fear we're keeping the people waiting, my sweet."

"Just building up their anticipation, darling. Don't worry, I'm keeping track of the time." He privately doubted that, but she did seem to be counting in her head before she gestured him forward to open the door for her. He held out his arm, and they stepped out to face their people.

His job now was to wave, smile, and play the smitten bridegroom. The latter was easy enough; she was lovely to look upon, after all, with her pink curls cascading down her graceful neck and over her shoulders, her jewels chosen in exquisite taste, her wedding finery setting her off to perfection. To all appearances, he was the luckiest man in the kingdom, to have won the heart and hand of such a beautiful young woman. 

Especially after being turned down by every marriageable duchess and countess within a decade of his age. What did that matter now? He'd married a queen. He put an arm around her waist, and she turned her face up to him, murmuring, "It's time to kiss me."

He kept his sigh internal. She really was one step ahead of him. But it was indeed time to kiss her, so he did, showily and romantically, caressing her face and gazing into her eyes afterwards, for a great roar of approval.

"Nicely done," she said, smiling into his adoring gaze. 

"Naturally," he murmured, pulling away with a lingering, melting look. "Did you expect anything less?"

Newly-wedded couples in Nova, after speaking their vows in a sacred grove, would traditionally drink mead from a shared cup and then feed each other cakes soaked in honey. In a modern wedding, of course, the refreshments were typically served in a reception hall, after a festive procession away from the grove, and while the mead endured — the religious significance of honey was too strong to do away with that in favor of a fashionable wine — most cakes were baked with sugar, now, elaborate frosted edifices large enough to serve all the guests. 

Banion had expected his bride's fondness for the visual arts to extend to her wedding cake, and it was true that there was a towering construction of white and pink roses that might have been sugar or might have been real, there were also a pair of small cakes sitting in a pool of honey on a simple plate. No forks for the royal pair, it seemed. Banion's smile never faltered, not until he opened his mouth for Elodie to feed him, because naturally, she went first. 

What he wasn't expecting was for her to suck a drop of honey off of his own fingers when it was his turn. 

The smile she gave him just then was remarkably _familiar,_ but it took him a moment to place it. It was the way she'd smiled when they danced, when she'd told him almost offhandedly that she intended to marry him. 

Well, then. She'd selected him, she said, in part for his experience. He'd assumed that she meant his experience in politics and statecraft, but it seemed there were more fields of experience on her mind, and so much the better. She'd also made it very clear that he'd only have as much power as she permitted. He'd have to please her to get his way. And at least there was one way that he could be quite certain of pleasing her. 

"Quite certain" might have been a bit of an overreach. He'd _thought_ all had gone well when they retired to bed together, but after he'd gone to clean up, he returned to find her sitting up in bed, reading a sheaf of papers by the light of — something. Some glowing, floating orb. 

"Is that magic?" 

"Mm-hmm," she said, barely sparing him a glance. "The light is. The letter is a wedding gift from a bard — it's not important. I wanted to ask you about your son."

"What about him?" Banion climbed back under the covers, no longer concerned about doing it with any grace or panache. Romance was clearly lost on Elodie.

"We'll have to arrange for him to visit, of course. What's your relationship like with his mother? Did you part on good terms?" 

"I believe so...?" Her pregnancy had coincided with his decision to pay court to Julianna, the last woman of his rank he hadn't tried, and it had simply seemed natural to stop inviting her for evening visits, especially since she'd spent every visit since discovering her pregnancy telling him about how tired and sick she felt. She'd seemed cheerful enough, if even more tired, when she'd come to show him the newborn.

"We'll pay for the transportation, of course. I wouldn't want to burden his mother. Is she married? What are her circumstances?"

"She's a bookbinder, and she married last year — she used to be the head of the bookbinder's guild. They should be doing quite well for themselves."

"Even so. We'll sponsor his entry to the Academy, of course, and pay his tuition." 

"Of... course." 

"Oh, and if he's descended from you, there's a chance he could be a Lumen!"

"What?"

"All the nobility of Nova were Lumens, at one point—"

"No, I mean— stop. Enough. You win. It was petty of me, I know."

"What are you talking about, Banion?" she asked, all wide-eyed innocence. "This is about family. Nothing is more important than family."

"I suppose."

"It must be, or you wouldn't have tried to trap me into marriage just to get revenge for your sister, would you?"

He gave a short, unbelieving laugh. "I couldn't very well trap you when you were waiting atop the trap to pounce on me." 

"The fact you failed doesn't negate the fact you tried," she said. "Brin will be fine. She'd need to get heirs one way or another." 

"She'd intended to adopt the boy, when the time came," Banion said. "Not to take him from his mother, just to name him her heir."

"Oh, dear. Well, all the more reason to make sure he gets the best education he can, then, to make up for that." 

It was like trying to grasp water. "As you say, my dear. I'm sure you'll set him up beautifully in life. But for now, surely we should sleep? It has been a very long day." 

"I suppose. You can lie down. I want to finish reading this."

He felt loath to close his eyes in her waking presence, after all this. 

He slept poorly, though whether that was out of uneasiness in the presence of his formidable little bride, or just the unfamiliarity of their new chambers, he couldn't say. But he did finally fall asleep, and awakened the next morning to find himself alone; Elodie clearly was not inclined to linger in bed with coffee and her morning's correspondence. 

His staff, though, had clearly done their jobs, and both coffee and correspondence were soon provided. He started with the poem Elodie had been reading the night before — or perhaps it was a song, because as a poem, it wasn't much to speak of. There were notes of congratulation on the wedding, there were requests for audience from artists and musicians hoping to make a good impression, there were reports from his staff on the vacancies they needed to fill now that they had the final tally of those staying in Maree and those traveling to the capital, and there was a note from Brin, a simple _I can call on you around three, I hope? If not, how about tomorrow?_

He dashed off his assent to Brin's note, and then began processing the others. The artists and musicians could be turned away; that was Elodie's domain. The people he'd brought along from Maree knew what they were about, and all he needed to do was approve their requests; when it came to buying horses or hiring tailors, then he'd need to be involved personally. He'd meet with Brin at three, and until then, he had a list of military men he hoped to meet, and notes to write to each of them. 

It was nearly noon when he finally finished dressing and stepped out into the sitting room of their shared apartments. He wasn't entirely surprised to find Elodie sitting there, in a light summer dress, a cup of tea in hand, but he hadn't expected her to be accompanied by Julianna.

"Oh," he said, stupidly, drawing up short at the sight. 

"Banion," Julianna said, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "My felicitations on your marriage."

"And mine, on yours," he said. He'd received the notice; he'd heard rumors, and had been living in dread of an invitation. There was no reason he should have been _embarrassed_ to learn that a woman he'd pursued had in fact preferred women; if anything, it should be a comfort, that her coldness had been about a lack of interest in all men, and not just him. It wasn't as though she'd advertised her preferences. He was fairly certain there had been other men who'd courted her in the past. There was no reason at all to be embarrassed, in general or right at this exact moment as he kept a fixed smile on his face.

"I regret that we couldn't invite you, but it was a very small and private ceremony," she said. "I don't know if you recall my wife? I introduced you in the receiving line, but I'd be amazed if either of you remembered a single face from that." 

Elodie laughed, and Banion, to his shock, found his smile shifting into something a little more real. He hadn't realized Julianna _could_ smile — he'd certainly never seen this much warmth from her in their entire two-year courtship — but there it was. "I'm trying, now that you've mentioned it. Red hair? Blue dress... Selena!" 

"Selene," she said. "Very good." He felt like he'd just passed a spelling test, but that was also more approval than she'd ever shown during their courtship. 

And perhaps more approval than she tended to show Elodie during magic lessons, because Elodie flashed him a smile just then that he couldn't interpret. He bowed to Julianna with a flourish, and added, "I thank you, but I should excuse myself. I didn't mean to intrude."

With a bit more polite nonsense, he was able to extricate himself, and make his way to the rooms that were being set up as an office for him. They were woefully unready, at present, but his desk and chair had arrived from Maree. He could find a seat amongst the boxes to pen a few more letters, social missives thanking some of the prominent guests who'd attended on his account, and more importantly, he could be easily found by messengers bringing responses to his messages.

And by Brin, who swept in a little after three, wearing another loose, flowing gown like the one she'd worn at the ceremony the day before. Not her usual style. Good news, in a sense. He rose and squeezed her hands in greeting. "Couldn't shake the husband any earlier?"

"No, he's not bad that way. Keeps himself busy. It's more that I can't drag myself out of bed early these days."

"So the dress isn't merely a fashion statement."

"No, though it's that, too. This is in style in Ixion, and it's also flattering when you feel hideously bloated." 

"You certainly don't _sound_ like impending motherhood agrees with you." Did all pregnant women spend the early days complaining? Something to look forward to when he finally accomplished his duty by Elodie.

She groaned, flopping into his chair. There were no others, and he was left to hover awkwardly. "Impending is right. This is a misery. I could take a nap right here and now." 

"Brin, let me call one of the maids. You can lie down in one of the rooms — they have dozens of them, even with all the guests staying here. Honestly, you didn't need to call on me. I thought you had something serious to discuss."

"I suppose I did. Telling you I'm in an _interesting situation_ is big news, isn't it? You'll note the polite phrase is 'interesting' and not 'happy.'" 

"Would you like some tea or anything?"

She shuddered dramatically. 

"Just a room, then." 

He rang for a maid, and she dropped her head back, eyes closed. "You could have acted a little happier to see me, you know."

"Of course I'm happy to see you, but you didn't need to drag yourself all the way here. The carriage ride couldn't have helped if you're feeling ill." The family residence in town was quite a ways from the palace. 

"Oh, it didn't."

Then why flee her home? "You're really not that unhappy in your marriage?"

She lifted her head, smiling a little wickedly. "I never told you, did I? Mihael prefers men. Someone in Ixion clearly had good intel and a sense of humor." 

"Convenient!" 

"Isn't it? We're both looking forward to being done with all this. But no, he's fine. Entertaining conversationalist who never overstays his welcome. All I could ask in a man. We see each other one week in four, for form's sake, and that was enough to get the job done." 

"Romantic." 

"Not a great romance like yours, certainly." 

The knock at the door interrupted them, just as he'd gotten her back to herself, but the interruption was well timed. The door had scarcely shut after Brin and the bespectacled maid escorting her than he heard another knock, and this time it was a messenger, bearing an invitation to dine with one of the admirals he'd most hoped to meet. At _His Royal Highness the Prince Consort's convenience._

Banion kicked back in his reclaimed chair, arms behind his head, smiling at the sunlight streaming through the still curtain-less windows. _His Royal Highness the Prince Consort._ And the speed with which the reply had arrived! It was telling, and promising. Elodie had scarcely done a thing to rebuild their shattered navy back to pre-invasion levels. She barely seemed to remember they _had_ a military. Banion, on the other hand, had been in charge of ducal forces for a decade now, and while Maree's army was no match for the ground forces of Lillah, they did possess a navy second only to the Crown's. 

He couldn't, of course, do much without funding, and that would require Elodie's approval. And Elodie's approval would mean earning Elodie's favor. But he could get to know some of the top officers, learn the lay of the land, and then when he did get a bit more funding funneled their way, his opinions would carry more weight with the generals and admirals already in power — and even more with the promising young men he'd be putting forward for plum assignments and promotions.

A man could really make his mark in a situation like this.

As the days wore on, Banion learned terrifying details of his new bride's domestic habits. She rose with the dawn, so far as his ability to roll over and squint blearily at her in the half-light would let him discern, and she came to bed well past midnight. At her request, he made an attempt to awaken by eight and join her for breakfast; without fail, she'd come in wearing riding clothes, or with her finger in a book, and somehow make articulate conversation before she'd even touched a cup of coffee. 

Or, at least, she'd _attempt_ articulate conversation. Such a feat required two, and Banion was no match for it when he'd been forced out of his bed and into clothing before ten. 

Dinner was much the same, but in reverse. As far as Banion was concerned, the evening meal was the perfect time of day for socializing; the participants had a full day behind them to provide topics of conversation, amusing anecdotes, and fodder for discussion, annoyances to pour into a sympathetic ear and triumphs to recount. Wine might be flowing, which was a pleasant bonus. And after that meal, there were still hours left in the day in which to amuse oneself or others, and to handle whatever work or social obligations were left undone. In truth, while he'd maintained few domestic fancies, one of the few that had endured was the idea of dinner with his bride, followed by more intimate diversions.

To Elodie, however, the evening meal seemed to be something best gulped down in haste while ministers and courtiers hovered nearby. Most evenings, she actually dined with some of those ministers, and while Banion was welcome there — and he did attend, if only to make the acquaintance of those courtiers and signal to them that he, too, was interested in the business of the court — he was never the focus of her attention, or even seated within earshot of her. 

After that evening meal, she would leave, typically followed by a retinue of advisors and administrators, and Banion would have the time to himself. To be bored senseless, typically.

So he focused more on dinner engagements with his military men, and occupied his days with riding, and managing Maree from afar, and settling in — not just settling himself into the palace, but settling his entire household, servants and administrative staff and grooms and horses and all the rest, into their new homes in the capital. 

They attempted to make shared breakfasts work for nearly a month, but it was a lost cause; Banion would feel out of sorts each day, all day long, and Elodie clearly found him an unsatisfactory companion in the mornings. He proposed a few more _intimate_ evening meals — layering on the unspoken intimations so thickly that he might as well have spoken them — but Elodie was unmoved. They did make some time for each other during the daylight hours, but usually just to discuss some small matter of business — the decoration of Banion's office, or of the royal suite, seemed to preoccupy Elodie all out of proportion to what Banion considered their importance — and after the wedding night, their conjugal relations dwindled nearly to nonexistence.

Spring finished its transformation into summer, and Banion's spaces in the palace finished their transformation into a residence, if not quite a home yet. Elodie actually consulted his preferences regarding color, fabric, and overall decoration — a few favorite paintings, no more as yet — though the specifics of the designs were all hers. Seeing the final results, he had to acknowledge that had been the right call. She had good taste and good designers at her disposal, and perhaps more importantly, she cared; he would have happily made his study in the palace a replica of his study at home, though the larger, airier space benefited from Elodie's touch.

And his other projects proceeded apace. Elodie's neglect of the military was unmistakable, and many of his new friends among the officer corps felt it was affecting morale. Banion had encouraged military recruitment and training, and signed off on the commission of several warships. Elodie would eventually get wind of that - she might not care about the military but she was involved in fiscal matters - but she also couldn't take it back. And someone needed to see to Nova's borders and coasts.

Those were the arguments he had prepared for Elodie's eventual discovery of his military involvement. He didn't expect to need it before dawn one summer morning, when he went to meet General Themisto, tour the military drill grounds, and observe some training grounds, but there she was, clearly having arrived well before him; she and General Themisto, normally the most dour of men, were laughing at some joke he hadn't heard. 

And she was wearing a uniform. _He_ didn't even have a uniform. When had she had time to get a uniform tailored? Because this was no borrowed jacket; she was wearing the full uniform, clearly tailored to her proportions, and with a few unorthodox touches, like the thigh-high boots. He could appreciate those, and the form-fitting tailoring, but the appreciation was no match for his irritation that she'd decided to play dress-up rather than pay any mind to her military until it came time to show him up.

But he schooled his expression into a smile, and approached her, open-handed, saying, "Elodie, darling!"

"Surprise!" she said cheerfully. "I hope you don't mind me inviting myself along, dearest. My military knowledge may all be theory, rather than practice, but there's only one way to remedy that." 

"Not at all," he lied. "I'd much prefer you get your military education through observation than through another invasion!" 

They all laughed — even General Themisto, who'd clearly been charmed into uncharacteristic good humor — and the general said, "Shall we begin, then?"

Luckily, they were both able to spend most of the excursion speaking to the general, with questions and observations — Elodie's were a touch uninformed, but not as ignorant as Banion had anticipated — but near the end, General Themisto asked Elodie to make an address to the troops. Banion smiled supportively, face actually aching slightly from the effort, as Elodie spoke about their crucial role in defending Nova from threats both internal and external etc. etc. and she hadn't forgotten their comrades lost during the Shanjian invasion — time for him to look solemn, instead — and their heroic efforts at that time blah blah and that was why— 

"That is why my prince consort, Banion of Maree, has proposed a series of memorials to the fallen, here in the capital and in some of the towns most affected by the fighting."

Applause. He smiled, and then when the applause and cheers continued, he stepped forward and saluted, and then went to Elodie's side and took her hand. They waited for the applause to settle, and then he cleared his throat and said, "Paying proper honor to the sacrifice of the fallen and the courage of all our forces is the least we can do in recognition of your service." 

He wasn't sure whether she'd even intended to let him speak — or perhaps the little vixen had made a point of getting him to speak — but she'd taken great delight in surprising him and showing him up repeatedly this morning, so he set himself to preparing anodyne remarks in his head even after she said, "And we will, of course, continue our current program of recruitment and training, gradually building our forces up to pre-invasion levels." 

As she continued speaking, she dropped his hand so as to gesture for emphasis, and Banion stepped back, listening to her in earnest now. She laid out all of his own plans and innovations and a few that must be her own. Not one thing he'd done had slipped past her — in fact, she must have been speaking to some of the same officers he'd befriended, because she mentioned as plans things that he'd merely floated as ideas, like reinforcing a few of their largest warships to hold more cannons, and developing better preserved rations for long deployments and for naval use. That one got a significant cheer, and Banion felt positively robbed. _He_ could have said that. 

At last, though, the ordeal was over, the men had cheered for them, and they'd departed to the rousing sounds of Nova's national anthem. There was a carriage waiting for them, though Banion had ridden one of his horses; his groom had already taken it back to the stables, so there was nothing for it but to ride back with his lovely bride.

"I see this was all it took to get you to take an interest in the military," he said, as soon as the carriage rocked into motion. "If I'd only known!" 

"I've been taking an interest in the military for months, Banion. If you'd ever spoken to me about it, instead of trying to sneak behind my back, you would have known!"

"I tried speaking to you about it not long after our marriage, if you'll recall, darling. You told me that preparing small and focused expeditions into the old capital was your priority!"

"And it was, but you can't simply train a handful of knights and soldiers and leave it at that! If we don't improve the whole military we won't have the manpower for those expeditions!" 

"So of course it's still about your little Lumen project and nothing to do with protecting Nova's borders. Of course it is."

"If you'd stick to protecting those borders where they stand today perhaps I'd be more willing to let you have it your way, Banion. But you and your sister can't leave well enough alone, can you?"

"Brin has been punished _amply_ for her expansionist foray. I make no pretense of trying to expand our borders when we're poorly equipped to defend the ones we have. And no sooner do I try to remedy that then you step in to have me design memorials to your last military failure? I'm only surprised you trust me with the designs."

"I don't," she said. "They're all subject to my approval." 

He laughed sharply, sitting back and crossing his arms. "Of course. And then when we've paid that tribute I'm sure it's back to more meaningless Lumen nonsense." 

"Banion, do you have any idea how many of our subjects have been killed by monsters since my mother's death?"

He didn't answer, and the silence stretched uncomfortably. She really expected him to know? "No, I don't."

"Nearly fifty," she said. "Not as many as the number of soldiers killed in the Shanjian invasion, but that's fifty of our subjects killed by monsters that we've never even tried to fight. A dozen more have been maimed, usually losing limbs even if they survived the bleeding. Before my mother died no one even kept track of monster casualties." 

He said nothing. "It's not meaningless nonsense," she said. "And as for your disdain for Lumen matters in general — surely one as well-versed in military matters as you are is aware of the Tombulan mobilizations in recent years?"

"All the more reason we should strengthen our military," he said. "Shanjia is hardly our only threat."

"But both times their would-be invasion forces met with lucky disasters. Convenient, isn't it? Surely it's just a coincidence that the Lumen duchess of Ursul was a friend to the last queen of Nova and that invasion forces from the north keep meeting with misfortune. After all, magic is just Lumen nonsense."

"Is that true? Julianna really drove away the Tombulan forces both times?"

She glared at him, and then turned to frown out the window. And so the rest of the carriage ride back to the palace passed in tense silence, and she preceded him out of the carriage, taking a footman's hand rather than waiting for him to help her down. He was left to make his way inside on his own, and while he smiled and made pleasant comments to the footmen and the guards on duty, he could also clearly see her anger in the set of her shoulders and the aggressive clicking of her bootheels on the stone path. Every one of the staff present now knew that the royal couple had quarreled. He sighed inwardly, and made his way back to his study. 


	2. Chapter 2

Whatever the various spies, gossipmongers and composers of satirical songs made of their quarrel — for that matter, how far the gossip even spread — Elodie seemed not to care. Their domestic life, such as it was, continued basically unaltered. She still came to bed after Banion retired and rose before either him or the sun. They still occasionally, awkwardly, crossed paths during the day. 

Banion's secretary consulted with him about meeting with architects and designers regarding the memorials, and so those meetings began occupying his time. There were an astonishing number of people and design concepts involved, considering that every such memorial Banion had ever seen seemed to involve a pillar or obelisk or plaque of some sort, perhaps a statue, perhaps a small grove.

But each and every one of those elements had its impassioned proponents and detractors. Statues were a vivid, specific, visually interesting tribute — that put too much emphasis on one figure, or a handful, at the expense of the other dead. Anything that could bear engraved names had better have room for every name, or include none at all. And if the memorial was to be a grove, well. Apparently the orthodox oaks he considered standard were, in fact, not the only appropriate tree for a sacred grove, and the very devout had strong opinions about the proper uses, in any sacred grove, of alder and apple and yew.

After a half-dozen frustrating meetings in which some sculptor or priestess expected him to engage with ideas he'd never thought to care about, he instructed his administrative staff to simply solicit design documents and let him review them at his leisure. He selected one of those, and forwarded it to Elodie, only to get it back with a disapproving note about the lack of emotion in the design. 

He was so outraged he actually donned a dressing gown and joined Elodie for breakfast the next morning. "What kind of _emotion_ do you want?" he demanded, as the maids scurried about bringing coffee and cutlery for his unexpected presence. "It's a _fountain!_ " 

"If you don't believe a fountain can convey some kind of emotion, then why include it in the memorial?" she asked, and he seethed his way through an omelette and then stalked off to the library to demand pictures of architecture.

But as he'd expected, none of the pictures of palaces or tombs made him feel a thing. The only tomb that had ever made him feel anything was his mother's, and he felt that had far less to do with the arches and stones than with how he felt about his mother. The survivors would welcome a memorial as an acknowledgement of the lost, not for its fine sculpture. He said as much, in a note he sent to Elodie along with a sketch of a memorial incorporating a grove and a sculpture of a warship.

"Maybe so," Elodie said, when she came to his office in person to return it to him, "but as a mark of respect for the dead, _I_ want the memorial to be the finest we can give them." 

"Fine," he said, "But if you have such high standards for a memorial, why don't _you_ tell _me_ what you're hoping to see? Since half of these artists come here wanting me to give them ideas, and I have none, perhaps we can use some of yours." 

"Banion, if I could sit around all day dreaming up designs for gowns and floral arrangements and buildings and temples, I'd be doing that already. I want to see something with some originality, some spark. I don't expect you to provide it—" 

"Thank you so very much—" 

"— _if you don't want to,_ " she added, irritably — "but I do ask you to winnow out the chaff and not send me utterly conventional designs."

"Well, as you've so tactfully pointed out, dearest, I lack your genius for the visual arts, so you've selected a fundamentally unqualified lackey for the task, and you'd do far better to appoint a court artist for the role."

"I think _you_ would do perfectly well if you put some real effort into this rather than sending me the worst of the lot in hopes that incompetence will lose the job for you." 

"Elodie, if you believe those were the worst of the lot, you have never presided over any sort of open competition in your life. Never underestimate the overconfidence of fools and untalented hacks." 

"At least I had the wisdom to have someone else sort through the entries myself. If you don't have a secretary or three perusing them first, then you really should, and if you do, then you should replace them, because they're not serving you well." 

Nettled, he retorted, "Perhaps you have some you could offer? I've always hired administrative staff on the grounds of their administrative skills, not their aesthetic sensibilities." 

"If you'd like, I can in fact lend you the services of a few of the designers who helped with the wedding and the coronation. With their assistance, perhaps you can at least select a _few_ suitable designs?" 

He bowed so low it could only be seen as an insult, and when he looked up, she was indeed frowning at him. "It will be an honor, my lady wife." 

"Perfect," she snapped, and swept from the room, a feat all the more impressive for the fact she was wearing a short sundress.

He met with Elodie's "designers" the next day. One, a woman named Eucleia, was responsible for floral arrangements. At least she must be busy, he thought, considering all the flowers on constant display in the palace. The other was a man named Piette who, in very flowery terms, did his best not to say outright that he was the one responsible for draping cloth everywhere when Elodie gave a staged speech, held a tourney, or otherwise presented herself to be seen. 

"Very well," he said. "The project at hand is a bit more... solid and permanent than your usual fields of expertise, but I'm placing myself in your hands." In the end, when they too started asking him what he envisioned — what did it _take_ to convince these artistic types that not everyone sat around dreaming of gardens? — he simply turned over the sheaves of design sketches and proposal letters and let them peruse at their leisure, watched over by a bored young staffer, while he went for a stroll. And more coffee, though he considered spiking it with brandy; energy wasn't what he needed to deal with this matter, patience was. 

Maybe it was the stroll, or the meditative effects of simply sitting and drinking coffee in the garden, but when he returned to the office to find several portfolios fanned out across the desk and many more stacked sloppily and dismissively in a chair, he felt much more able and willing to explain to the designers that, in fact, there were multiple potential sites for memorials, three of which he was inclined to use: one here in the capital, one in a little seaside town called Rheita that had lost an inordinate number of young men in the fighting, and one in another seaside village, Thebit, where many of the surviving wounded had come ashore. 

"Thank you," the insufferable draper, Piette, said. "This is very helpful information. We need to know this to decide which memorial is best, which too large or too small. What is perfect here in the capital is too large and too... ostentatious, shall we say, in a little village."

"Very well, then. Does that change any of your choices?"

"No, no," Eucleia said. "We selected a range of ideas. But the artists will need to know, and some of these documents are very... general. You'll find that some of them are more sketches and brainstorming notes than full proposals. You'll still need to meet with artists, tour sites..."

Of course. Of course he would. He drew a deep breath. Patience. Patience and brandy. "Perhaps I'd best review these first, and share them with the Queen, and then set up meetings with the artists themselves." 

"I think that would be perfect!" Eucleia exclaimed. "Will you wish our presence at these meetings?"

"I think so, yes," he said. He wasn't sure what Piette would have to contribute, but the property he wished to use for the memorial in the capital was large enough that gardens and flowers seemed appropriate, so Eucleia, at least, would probably be useful. And maybe the man who draped all the cloth would also have thoughts about other ways of creating shapes and colors, like architecture, or stained glass, or... paint or something. "But for now, thank you for your assistance."

When he'd seen them out, he sagged into his chair with a sigh. How general were these artistic proposals? 

Very, as it turned out. Some were detailed sketches of a park, or a small garden space with a monument in the middle; some were mostly writing, with the occasional sketch — for a stylized angel statue, or a statue of three sailors in a lifeboat, or Elodie herself, holding aloft a sword that was decorated, in the sketch, with little sparkles, and a scribbled note saying "crystal." That was puzzling, until he deciphered the rest of the writing and discovered the proposed statue itself would be bronze. But the blade would be crystal, a memorial of her Lumen duel. That seemed unduly focused on Elodie rather than the war dead, but perhaps she'd like that? 

There was a significant amount of technical detail about the preferred casting method, the amount of bronze required, the height and weight of the statue, and he threw down the paper with a sigh. Was this his punishment? If he'd started telling artists, at the first meeting, that he envisioned a park, a small sacred grove, perhaps a small pond — or would that be insensitive, given this was for a naval battle? — and a statue, would he still be getting letters about quantities of bronze ingots?

And there'd been that notion of visiting little seaside villages to tour the locations. He'd been to his share of seaside villages, and while the seashore on the whole had its charms, fishing villages held very few. 

But it was a way to make himself visible. Prominent. Had Elodie visited, in the aftermath of the invasion? Even if she had, his visit would be more excitement than they'd had since then. And if she hadn't, well. The queen hadn't visited, but the king-consort would. And he'd be gracious, and charming, and make certain they hired local workers when the construction began. 

In that positively cheerful frame of mind, he set his secretary to work on setting up meetings with some of the chosen artists. 

Banion had never really spared a thought for the schedules of artists, beyond the assumption that they were less busy than the dukes and monarchs they painted. But scheduling a meeting with one artist, let alone half a dozen of them, proved unexpectedly challenging. The meetings he'd hoped to fit into a week or two stretched across the summer and into the early days of autumn. 

And then one afternoon, a maid came to tell him the queen requested his presence in the garden. That was unexpected; more unexpected was the presence of others, namely his old lover Emma, their son Brandon, and Julianna of Ursul. 

It was hard to imagine a grouping better calculated to make him want to flee. But the time to reject the invitation had been in his study, so he smiled and went to join them, full of flattery about their loveliness amongst the flowers, and he even crouched down with Brandon to hear some nonsense about horsies. That was the position he was in when Julianna said, blunt as ever, "We're considering testing Brandon for Lumen talent, and Elodie thought we should consult you, as his father." 

"Indeed," he said, stalling for time, and Brandon shouted, "I wanna be a Lumen!"

"Do you, now," he said, and when he glanced at Emma, she shook her head in a vehement, silent negative. "That's a big decision for a little boy."

"I'm big," Brandon said.

"Well, you are bigger than the last time I saw you. I think you might be big enough to ride a pony, now."

"A horsie!" 

"Exactly," Banion said, and soon enough he had a groom ready to escort Emma and Brandon to the stables. He'd purchased the pony with Elodie's talk of visits in mind, and he was grateful now, because he had a feeling the discussion to come was best engaged in without a child present. 

When they'd departed, Banion asked, "What does this testing entail?"

"Testing him for Lumen status is simple. Testing his resonance with various crystals that could be a match is more complicated. And we can't do that just now."

Banion nodded, drawing on the reserves of patience that had let him court her for two years. 

"Traditionally, he'd simply inherit the crystal from you, but you would have been using it for years." 

Banion frowned. Two centuries ago, there had probably been Lumens in the family, but the crystals were long gone and the Lumens were just dour-looking people in old-fashioned clothes in the family portrait gallery. "But that's not an option. So what's the next step?"

"In theory, as a descendant of your line, he'd resonate with any of the crystals you could have inherited."

"Any?" He tried to remember what he'd learned about the history of Lumens - he'd studied the lore back when he still hoped to win Julianna's hand, and brushed up on it again after his betrothal to Elodie. "So, the crystals of Maree and Hellas?"

"And Dysnomia, I believe," Elodie said. "One of my archivists has found mentions of a Countess of Dysnomia among the Lumens of the kingdom at the time of the Doomshadow." 

"But all those crystals were destroyed." 

"That's the official account," Julianna said. "Some families locked their crystals away, and other crystals were simply lost and unaccounted for." 

"And so now they could be anywhere. In any hands." He racked his brains for more information. There were a few Lumens — Julianna's new bride, a murderer Elodie had famously vanquished before she was crowned — without obvious noble antecedents. Lucille, Elodie's aunt and Lumen minister, presumably had her Lumen crystal from that disputed descent from the Merva line. Who else? Could a new Lumen spring up from nowhere and generate a new crystal that had never existed before, or did all the crystals in Nova date back to the era of Lumen rule?

"So you're beginning to see why I want to improve our knowledge of Lumen matters and exert some kind of control," Elodie said. 

"Not at the expense of other priorities," he said coolly, and he felt the silence in the garden grow thick for a moment.

"The truth is, your family's crystals are in Brin's hands," Julianna said.

"What?"

"Shortly before her death, your mother entrusted them to her. You didn't know?"

"No." He hadn't even known their family had Lumen crystals. He'd assumed they were all destroyed. She'd told Julianna this, and not him?

Brin and Julianna had been drawn to each other from the start, though. If anything, Julianna had seemed to prefer Brin's company. If he and Julianna were at some event where Brin wasn't present, Julianna was usually short with him; she'd decline his invitations to dance and shut down all his attempts at badinage. Whereas if Brin was around, he could sometimes wring a smile from her, start a conversation off on a better foot when she was still in a good humor from talking to Brin, or win a dance or a turn around their hosts' gardens. Before returning her to Brin's side.

Several pieces clicked into place in swift succession.

"I see," he said, and he cleared his throat, and schooled his face into a smile. If he was a laughing-stock for not seeing what was right under his nose, then so be it; it was far too late now to let the knowledge discompose him. "Probably wise of my mother, all in all. I can only imagine the trouble I could have gotten into at twenty-two with magic at my disposal."

"I suppose that's why my father made it so hard to find my crystal," Elodie said. "He kept asking me to wait until I was older."

"I don't pretend to know what children of three or four do with their time, but I can't imagine they're _better_ suited to use magic properly."

"I can't say I'm acquainted with any that age either," Julianna said. "Or terribly fond of them. But my wife is, and she feels that so few children of that age have the discipline or focus to learn to use magic that it's pointless to make the attempt." 

"Really?" Elodie said.

"Selene is not the sentimental type," Julianna said. "I trust her judgment in this and all matters."

Banion's memory was of a sweet-faced ingenue, not a hard-headed, formidable witch, but Selene was a matter for later investigation. "Regarding the numbers of crystals," he said. "How are crystals generated? If we know which nobles were Lumens at the time of the Doomshadow, do we know how many crystals are in Nova?" His mind kept working, though, and he immediately added, "Roughly. Allowing for the movement of people and crystals through the years, might we reach an approximate number?"

"That's the hope," Elodie said, but Julianna was still chewing over the first part of the question.

"We really don't know," she said. "They must be formed in some fashion, perhaps a ritual or a magic spell involving joint powers, but the records are silent on the specifics. We don't know."

"They aren't likely to just spontaneously generate in random commoners, then," Banion said. "Records wouldn't be silent on that."

"Julianna isn't so sure," Elodie said. "We've discussed this too. But I think you're probably right, and that her theory that it involves some kind of ritual or meditation is sound, too. The records don't mention it because it was either taken for granted, or considered secret."

"Or we simply haven't found the records," Julianna said. "Don't be so optimistic that magic can be recorded and registered and contained, little princess."

"I am no longer a princess," Elodie said frostily. "I may be your student and your junior, but I am your queen."

Julianna inclined her head, obviously not contrite. "Majesty," she said in acknowledgment. 

Banion cast his eyes about, looking for some change of subject, and noticed Brandon and Emma, at the far end of the garden; Brandon was riding a fat, sedate little pony, Emma hovering nearby to keep him from falling off. "If I may return to the originating discussion," he said. "Since my family's crystals are extant, but absent — for all I know they're in Brin's vault in Hellas, or traveling around in her jewelry box — what more can be done right now?"

"Very little," Julianna said. "Since the crystals belong to your family by rights, in theory any of your children could use them. If I had them here, I might check to see if Brandon resonated with one more than another, and reserve that one for him when he's old enough to make the decision."

"But they're not," he said. "Did this meeting serve any purpose?"

"A bit of a reunion, I suppose," she said, with a faint, enigmatic smile.

"Yes, it's just like old times," he said, with a sardonic smile, and an ill-timed glance at Elodie that she must have taken to have some double meaning, because he saw the ghost of a scowl attempt to make its way onto her features, only to be smoothed out of existence before it could even twist her mouth.

But perhaps he did have a double meaning. Who was to blame for this pointless gathering? Had Elodie informed Julianna the child in question was his son? Had it been Elodie or Julianna who'd decided to invite him? Had this just been an excuse to let him know that Julianna had always preferred his sister? 

He wasn't going to find out now. He had Emma to reassure — there was no risk of Brandon becoming a Lumen by accident, and no chance it would happen on purpose for years to come — and a disappointed little boy to play at Lumens with. Luckily Emma and, surprisingly, Elodie, took over that chore with spirit very soon. He and Julianna took tea, and watched them at play, and exchanged bland pleasantries. 

It wasn't until evening, when he caught Elodie in their rooms — seemingly in the middle of changing from her evening clothes to a more casual dress, not into anything she could sleep in — that he finally had the chance to ask her. And his stretched-thin patience meant that the question emerged as, "What was all that about?"

"What?" She looked the picture of confused innocence, big blue eyes wide.

"That farce in the garden. Was it just meant as intimidation? Why drag them both here, and me, and Julianna, all for nothing?"

"It wasn't for nothing!"

"It most certainly was! Those vaunted Lumen crystals are in Ixion, or Hellas, and no one even cared to tell me they existed. What was the purpose of that farce?"

"First of all," she said, drawing herself up to her full height — which wasn't much, but certainly felt imposing when she looked at him that way — "You are assuming a great deal here. You seem to be assuming that I knew the location of the crystals, the nature of testing someone for Lumen potential, Julianna's plan of action in dealing with Brandon.... need I go on?"

"You and Julianna are clearly allies in this."

"We're allies in that we both want what's best for Nova, and that we intend to use Lumen magic to achieve that. And she is my mentor. But if you think she keeps me apprised of her plans or goals, you are sorely mistaken." She paused for emphasis. "I proposed testing Brandon for Lumen abilities. I concede, I didn't tell her who the child was, just that he was a noble's by-blow. I thought to keep it anonymous at first."

"All right." 

"She agreed, and then I started to have second thoughts. I wanted to make sure you, and Brandon's mother, were both present to look out for his best interests."

"Why the second thoughts? You don't trust your mentor?"

"It's not that I don't _trust_ her..." She sighed, and sat down on the edge of the bed. "If you win a crystal from an enemy Lumen, you can't simply bestow it on an ally like it's a diamond. The resonance will likely work against you."

"What has that to do with this?"

"I'm getting there. If your ally has something in common with the enemy, the resonance may be similar. Or if your ally is very malleable. Say, someone weak-willed, or very young— if you give the crystal to someone like that, with time and careful guidance you might be able to change the crystal's resonance."

"So a child seemed a likely candidate."

"Exactly. I don't think I know Julianna _well_ , because she never let me into her confidence, but I have some idea of how she approaches problems. She's very pragmatic. If she wanted to redeem a particular crystal, and thought Brandon suitable for that, it might have gone badly." Elodie sighed. "If I'd known what she had in mind, I might not even have bothered to invite her. I thought there might be something more complex, but _I_ could tell he had innate Lumen potential at the wedding!"

"You could?"

She nodded. "Not just by looking, but if I put myself into a certain state of mind— it's technical, I doubt you care. And really, from what Julianna tells me, I suppose every noble in the kingdom must have Lumen potential, if it really is just about descent — I'd thought you needed to be a Lumen's child, direct descent, not just any ancestry at all. At this point all the ducal families have intermarried with other ranks, and there are natural children out there... The point is, this was a lot of wasted effort."

"And here I thought it was wasted for some purpose. To show me my place, or threaten my peace of mind, force me into some grand public gesture in support of Lumens..."

"I don't do everything just to spite or school you, Banion," she said.

"Oh, I know. Most of what you do has very little to do with me at all. Where were you going, before I stopped you? Clearly not to bed."

"Is it any business of yours?"

"Sometimes a husband might wish to know where his wife is, yes. Or hold an opinion regarding her health and her tendency to overwork."

"There is nothing wrong with my health, Banion."

"Even with the energy of youth you will _eventually_ work yourself to exhaustion."

"And when that happens, I'll rest," she said. "For now, since you're so concerned for me, I suppose I must set your mind at ease by telling you that I am going to the archives." 

He bowed to her as she departed. 

After this latest quarrel, Banion wasn't at all unhappy to be taking leave of the palace for a week to travel to Rheita, one of the two villages where he planned to place a memorial. Sea air might not be to his taste, but a change of scenery would be. Back in Maree, he'd never spent so long within the confines of a single city; he used to travel to other ducal seats, he'd go to visit Brin, he'd travel within Maree itself, and here he might never leave the palace grounds for weeks at a time, let alone the capital. 

And Elodie was at least as confined as he was. Perhaps more so. It seemed not just unhealthy but unwise, and when she made a point of dining with him the night before his departure, he impulsively suggested, "You should come with me."

"What? Banion, I can't possibly."

"Oh, not this time, I suppose. It's short notice. But the next visit, to Thebit, is nearly a month away. You should come with me." So much for his solitary glory, he thought. But it would do her good. How often had she left the palace since she'd left school? She should see the kingdom she was ruling. 

"Possibly." She toyed with the food on her plate, twirling pasta around her fork and then letting it slide off again. "I'm not sure. I'd have to speak with my secretaries about my schedule, we'd have to arrange the guard detail..."

"Difficult doesn't mean impossible, you know."

"I know, but the question is whether it's worth the trouble." 

Was it? Or was she actually nervous? "Perhaps these excursions aren't, when you put it that way. But there are others that might be. You should travel, Elodie. See what's going on out there, not just hear reports of it. Visit trade centers, bother the farmers while they're picking cocoa beans or planting wheat, watch the weavers and spinners do their weaving and spinning. Pet a few lambs and kiss a few babies." 

"Is that what you did, as a duke?"

He nodded. "And not just once, to learn how it was done. Five years later, I'd visit a different farm, or weaver's shop, or sandpit, and ask them about their worries, and their hopes, and how they like the work. I'm sure I look a little foolish to them, but I also look a little human, and maybe they do things a little differently than the last place, so I learn about the variations in the business. And I suppose it makes them more human to me, too, so it's not just numbers on a paper when I'm arguing with you about taxes on grain." 

She just hmmmed in response, and finally took a bite of the pasta she'd been tormenting. "Maybe that's wise. I did so much studying, but some of it's still very abstract... and I feel like I learned just enough about trade to know how much I don't know." 

"You've made some wise decisions, though. Investing in the printing press was an excellent choice." 

"I had to sneak into the treasury to get my Lumen crystal," she said, "so I had some idea how much we had in there. I knew we could more than afford the investment he wanted, and if his idea worked it would more than pay off. I suppose it was a gamble, but it seemed a very small one."

"How much did he want?" 

"Just 875 lassi!"

"Heavens, that's nothing!"

"I know! I've had requests for far more to fund far sillier inventions since then." 

"Have you?" he asked, avidly. 

Her eyes sparkled. "There was this idea for a flying suit of armor..."

The pasta was taken away, the next course was brought in, and they were still talking about ridiculous inventions — "it's not that the chair that spins around is a _bad_ idea, but it doesn't need Crown funding!" They were laughing. It was pleasant. Banion was simultaneously happier than he'd been in months, and regretful that he hadn't spent more time trying to make Elodie laugh.

It showed on his face. "Is something wrong?" Elodie asked, over the cleared table awaiting dessert. "You seem a little pensive."

"I was just thinking I should have tried to make you laugh sooner, or more. It suits you."

She blushed a little, and toyed with her hair. "It's not like I give you much opportunity," she said. "But I did clear my schedule for this evening, since you're going away. I thought, if you wanted, we could spend the time together?"

"If I wanted?" He might have more or less surrendered on this matter, but hadn't he campaigned to spend more time with her, earlier in their marriage? "I'd be delighted."

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed, and then the footmen brought in their dessert — not just the little chocolate cakes, adorned with raspberries and soaked in raspberry liqueur, but a dessert wine, as well — and the subject returned to travel. He got to tell her more about Maree, about its scenic areas, the mountains in the north that it shared with Hellas and Mead, and he watched her avid expression as he spoke. Yes, he absolutely must insist they travel together, next spring or summer. The court could travel, to some extent, and its less portable functions could be left to administrators while the king and queen summered in the mountains, or by the seashore. 

They took a turn in the gardens, after the meal. It was growing cool at nights, but only enough to require a cloak or jacket, and when Elodie shivered, it gave him a good excuse to draw her close while they made their way back inside. 

"You certainly can't afford to catch a chill," he said.

She smiled up at him, and he felt a distinctly sentimental squeeze of emotion in the vicinity of his heart. How quaint, falling in love with his wife. He bent his head to kiss her, and to his surprise, she not only allowed it, she wrapped her arms around him and reciprocated with passion and clear intent.

"Well," he said, when they finally separated. 

"Shall we retire to our rooms?" she asked, sparing him the internal conflict as to whether he should try to spend the evening on slow seduction. 


	3. Chapter 3

"You did surprise me," he said, and he wasn't referring only to the fact that she was now lying with her head on his shoulder. "I assumed I displeased you somehow on the wedding night." 

"No, nothing like that," she said. "I'm just so busy, and you didn't seem to like me very much." She said it so matter-of-factly, without self-pity. 

"What? I've never heard such foolishness."

"Oh, honestly, Banion, don't be coy about it."

"What, is this about the military matter? You married me for my sneakiness." 

"No, it's about a great deal more than that."

"Hmm. Perhaps I did give that impression once or twice. But I assure you, I've become very fond of you over time." 

"Just the romantic words every little girl dreams of hearing from her husband," Elodie sighed. She lifted her head and kissed him. "I'm glad to hear it, though. Tonight has been lovely."

"It has, hasn't it? And it's not over."

Eventually, though, they did sleep, and Elodie still rose with the dawn to begin her day's ruling. This time, Banion awakened as she was extricating herself. 

"Sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

"Mmm," he said, kissing her sleepily. A whiff of her breath reminded him of why that was a bad idea, best undertaken only with the closest lovers, but his would be no better. "I'd best be up soon too, so I can depart early." 

"I know it's a trial to you," she said.

"It's not the waking up, it's the getting out of bed," he said, and rolled onto his back with a groan. 

"I don't really understand it," she said. "Sleeping is all well and good, but once you're awake, why lie around?"

"It's how we were brought up," he said. "Brin and Bennett and I would run into our mother's room in the mornings, after we were fed and dressed, and sit with her or play in her room or jump on the bed while she had her breakfast and coffee and handled her correspondence and paperwork. That was just what adulthood looked like. Brin still does things the same way." What Bennett did was his own affair. "I know it must look lazy to you, with your schedule, but I assure you, work gets done." He sat up, watching with some appreciation as Elodie dressed; the reverse was more enjoyable, but this wasn't bad either.

"Oh, I know. I just kept asking you to breakfast because that's what I was used to — Mother would always make time to have breakfast with me when I was at home, even when she'd already been working for hours by that time." 

"Much like you do now." He finally found the strength to swing his legs over the side of the bed and place them on the floor. "I will try to be more accommodating, Elodie." 

"Thank you," she said simply, smiling at him, and though he'd never tell a soul, he carried the memory of that smile with him for his entire trip to Rheita. 

He needed it to keep him warm. In the capital, the winds from the ocean were beginning to carry some bite, but in Rheita, the winds cut to the bone and howled at the windows. It was a drab little place, with almost as many fishing boats as houses, and it sent almost all its boys and many of its girls to sea, either in the navy or on those fishing boats. But here, he could slip back into the role he knew so well, the sympathetic nobleman who might not know his ass from a teakettle — he could easily imagine the reverse condescension the commoners must feel whenever he, or one of his peers, visited their place of work to ask where wheat came from and what they did with it — but who took an interest and meant to do something. 

The sculptor who was meeting him here, a young woman from Lillah, shivered miserably through the whole excursion, but when they retired to the inn at night she'd ignore him to feverishly sketch ideas, her chair pulled as close to the fire as anyone working on paper dared to sit. Banion was a little concerned with the young woman's good looks — he didn't want to give Elodie any cause for alarm, just when things were finally going well — but he could truthfully say that they had been entirely professional on the limited occasions when they couldn't completely ignore one another. 

And then it was finally time to return. Banion could now look forward with dread at the later planned trip, and safely push any further travel until spring. Winter wouldn't really begin for some time, but cold was definitely settling in. 

Not that this was going to slow down Brin, who planned a visit over the winter solstice. She was quite visibly pregnant now, and walked with a bit of a waddle, leading with her belly; it was a bit of an adjustment to have to slow his pace to match his once hard-charging sister. 

"No Ixionite solstice?" 

"Never," she said. "They make it a public holiday, like the Feast of the Good Lady but in the middle of winter! It's not just a religious observance like it is here. It's _festive_." 

"Heavens forfend," he said with a smile. "Elodie is fairly spiritual, but if you can tolerate all the evergreen boughs you see now, you'll be fine. I know there won't be any enforced cheer, and she's already told me she doesn't expect me to fast."

"Lovely," Brin sighed. "The greenery doesn't bother me. Makes me a bit nostalgic, honestly." 

"I do like the smell. So how is pregnancy treating you?"

"It got better, and then worse again," Brin said. "I've gotten used to the little monster kicking, but I think we're both feeling a bit crowded at this point. It's due soon, did you know?"

"I had an inkling," he said, looking at her belly. 

"Rude. I'm hoping to head back to Hellas from here and have it at home." 

"Wise plan. Go where you're most comfortable, keep your favorite people around you..." He trailed off as a horrible idea dawned on him. "You don't want me present for the birth, do you?"

"Heavens no. I have a midwife I'm fond of, and the priestess I brought with me to Ixion will be there." She pinked up a little at that, and Banion smiled indulgently. Was it the priestess, or the midwife? Probably the priestess. Maybe this would work out better than her attempts at finding a lover amongst the nobility. Most women of their class would have to marry a man at least for a time, and Brin had never had any patience for such necessities until she had no choice.

"I'm glad," he said. "Elodie will be doing some... Lumen thing, at some Solstice event in the grove, so she's busy with preparing for that on top of the usual packed schedule. And tonight it will definitely be just the two of us at dinner. But she's determined to set aside at least one evening to dine with you." 

"That will be nice," Brin said, blandly, and Banion realized anew that he was quite smitten, to think that time spent with Elodie was anyone's priority except his own. 

"So," he said, over dinner. "You and Julianna." 

Brin laughed merrily. "Did someone finally tip you off, after all this time?"

He felt a surge of hot, childish anger, the kind that used to send him running to Nanny or to Mother when Brin bossed him around. "Julianna did," he said, spearing a bite of salad with more force than necessary. "Not in so many words, but it made a number of things clear. Why not just tell me upfront, Brin?"

"It was too convenient an arrangement to ruin. And Julianna did consider marrying you, just for the sake of having some heirs. If she'd done that, it would have been the perfect ruse for the two of us to be together, and you'd have yourself a duchess. I didn't want to tell you and risk you blowing it all up."

"What makes you think—" He cut himself off, though. Yes, he probably would have refused such an arrangement, out of pride. It was one thing to humble himself in marriage to a queen, but he'd have wanted Julianna to choose him for himself.

"Because I know you, Banion," she said. "And then after Julianna decided that wouldn't suit, you'd spent enough time on the courtship that it seemed a waste to clue you in, then. So what tipped you off, in the end?"

"Julianna told me you hold the family's Lumen crystals. The fact you'd confided that in her told me more about how close the two of you were, and... the penny dropped, as the saying goes."

"What the Lumen crystals have to do with anything is beyond me," Brin said. "Do you want them? I'm certainly never going to use them. If I wasn't willing to become a Lumen when my lover was offering to tutor me I'm certainly not going to do it now, even if it is coming into fashion." 

"I suppose. Elodie wanted to test my natural son for Lumen potential, and it was quite the row in the end. I'm sure once she and I have children she'll want a crystal for each of them."

"They're all yours, then. I'd offer to bring them by your room, but I'm not doing well with long walks, so you'll have to come for them."

"Is that why you agreed to stay in the palace this time?"

"That and the size of my entourage, yes. I don't need as many when Mihael isn't with me. How are things going on the children front, by the way?"

Elodie had taken to retiring with him more frequently, at least, and while they were both unmistakably more cheerful as a result, there had been no signs of the sort of results everyone was eagerly awaiting. "No luck so far."

"I wonder if Lumen skills can help with that," Brin said. "In either direction; if she can hold it off if she wants, more reliably than herbs can." 

"You can ask her, when we dine together."

Brin waved that away. "It's not as though I ever intend to sleep with a man again once I'm divorced. It's just idle curiosity."

So she said. A few nights later, they gathered for the evening meal, with Elodie looking charming in a priestess's robe — "I've been rehearsing for the Solstice service," she said — and full of excited questions about Brin's pregnancy and her baby. All the portents pointed to a boy, Brin said. "I'm not delighted about that, but I'm sure I'll love him once I have him," she added.

"Oh, I'm sure you will."

"The little monster's eavesdropping," Brin said, "he gave me a kick for that. Want to feel?" 

"Yes, please!" Elodie exclaimed, rushing forward. 

"Banion said the two of you haven't had any luck yet. Can Lumen spells help with that?"

Elodie shook her head. "I doubt it, anyway." 

"You might speak to a healer, too — not that there's anything wrong, you're still so young! But the timing can make a difference. My husband and I used a schedule and it seemed to work."

"I... see," Elodie said, awkwardly.

"Brin, let's let that drop. I'd prefer not to have you scheduling my conjugal relations for me, if that's quite all right."

"All the conjugal arrangements should go one way, then," Brin said, a little sharply, and then, "But fair enough. Tell me about your project, Banion, the memorials?"

He'd described them to her in great detail on earlier nights, in fact, with a significant amount of frustrated commentary, but that was a sister in action; now he had no choice but to outline it all, all over again, in much more diplomatic terms, for Elodie's benefit. But Elodie kept giving him grateful looks, so it was hard to feel wronged. And she made a few approving comments about the ideas he described — it was almost annoying how pleased he felt about that — so it seemed like it might not be a bad idea to formally submit some of the proposals to her, and see what she had to say about them in the light of day. 

At the end of the meal, Brin embraced them both — "Don't mind me," she said to a wide-eyed Elodie, "I'm just testy because there's someone in my belly kicking me all the time" — and retired early, leaving them to retire together if they chose. And apparently, Elodie chose, though she was quiet as she dismissed her maids and asked him to unbutton her gown. She clearly only meant in the sense of undressing, so he mostly kept his hands to himself, but he couldn't resist kissing the back of her neck once. 

She shivered, but then she turned her head. "Thinking about heirs?" she asked.

"No, thinking about my lovely wife," he countered. "But if you are not so inclined..."

"I just..." She shook her head, and he stepped away to let her remove her gown and brush out her hair. But she looked so forlorn, standing there in her shift with her hair covering her face, that a moment later he came up behind her again, and put his hands on her shoulders. She didn't pull away; she even leaned back against him a little. So a moment later, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, and she reached up to cover one of his hands with hers. 

"I _like_ children," she said. "But sometimes I feel like I still _am_ one."

"Sometimes _I_ feel like I'm still a child, and I'm twice your age," Banion said. 

"I know we need to have an heir," Elodie said. "I'm still not even sure how my mother died, or if the same thing might happen to me. But there's so much to do right now, so much responsibility, and adding a child on top of all that—"

"Elodie, there really isn't any rush. You know Brin had every reason to want to have a child as soon as she possibly could and be done with it. Perhaps I flatter myself, but you and I don't have that concern." He didn't really think it was flattery. On one occasion, she'd started glowing faintly after their lovemaking. He'd been very pleased with himself.

"No, we don't," she agreed, and he could hear the smile in her voice. 

"So don't fret. It will happen when it happens." 

"I suppose it could happen tonight," she said. 

"If that's what you want..." 

She tilted her head back to smile at him.

Winter was the season of preparations and plans, and Banion's agents had more reports for him in winter than at any other time. He had them keeping an eye on Lillah — Elodie had let a great deal of power fall into Arisse's hands with her kind impulse to let orphaned Adair stay with his family — and on Elodie's Aunt Lucille. Technically, the one who had the most to gain should Elodie die without issue was Elodie's cousin Charlotte, Lady Merva, but Charlotte was a guileless child who seemed very attached to Elodie, whereas Lucille was an ambitious, cunning woman. Banion liked her on a personal level, and if Brin hadn't gotten to her first he might have tried to marry her once, but he didn't share Elodie's faith that family could always be trusted. 

Lillah was mostly secure. Arisse seemed contented with her current level of power and with Elodie's rule. Banion couldn't help but be a little uneasy — he agreed with his spymaster that Arisse had commanded at least two deaths within her family, and from his personal acquaintance with Arisse, he fully believed that she could do the deed with her own hands if she felt the need — but the two deceased had been richly deserving, and Arisse mostly seemed inclined, so far, to dispense justice amongst her kin. It was a situation that required monitoring, but no immediate action. 

The other concerns were international, and better covered by the Crown's agents. Shanjia's military had been battered but not severely impaired by their battle, but until its queen decided to try to avenge her husband, they had some time to rebuild. Tombula was apparently held at bay by Julianna herself. Ixion seemed contented with Brin's marriage, and there were no signs of Talasse planning to assassinate Adair, for now. 

Elodie finally approved some memorial proposals, relieving Banion of the need to tour more fishing villages or find something apropos to say about more model sculptures. And she invited him to sit in on court sessions whenever he chose, which was dull once the novelty wore off, but welcome all the same. She rarely consulted him, but occasionally she wanted his input on a thorny criminal case or a matter of disputed property. 

His initial instinct had been sound; pleasing his wife the queen was the route to greater power and prestige. The fact that now he simply _wanted_ to was unplanned, but there were worse fates. 

He didn't have Elodie's permission or approval to visit the treasury, but the guards let him through anyway. The first time, he'd merely gone in to deposit the Lumen crystals Brin had entrusted to him, but he couldn't resist tallying their funds, and making occasional trips later on to take stock. Elodie had lowered taxes somewhat, during her first year as queen, and then kept them stable, and as a result, the treasury held more than enough to take on some ambitious projects. More ambitious than any of those Elodie had approved.

Banion's notorious romantic history had, if nothing else, left him with contacts all over Nova; at least a few of the women he'd courted were still friendly acquaintances, and so were some of their family members. He spent a morning writing letters, sending them to a number of ducal courts, and then resumed business as usual. Only time would tell if his plans would bear fruit.

Winter was beginning to loosen its grip on the city when the delegation from Lillah arrived in the capital. Banion was delighted; the Lillah scheme had been the one he most hoped to accomplish. Luckily for him, and the secrecy of his plan, Elodie chose to cloister herself with some advisors for several nights before the delegation's court audience, brushing up on Lillah matters. 

So when they met in court for the audience with the delegation, it was the first they'd really seen of each other in several days. Elodie looked remote and lovely, but she did favor him with one bright smile before rearranging herself into the figure of a queen. 

Banion couldn't entirely allow his mind to wander through the compliments and introductions, though he didn't need to pay full attention, either. He did note that they came "with the approval of her Grace the Duchess of Lillah," not "under the protection of her Grace," meaning that this was an authorized but not sponsored delegation; Arisse wasn't funding this, which meant that the merchants themselves saw the value.

Now it was time for the real meat of the audience; two of them brought out a large map of Lillah and a stand, unrolled it, and the leader began pointing out townships, discussing crops and products shipped out of each, and the time it took to transport them to the nearest river. 

"With better roads, and more of them, your Majesties surely see that we could speed the transport of goods within Nova, and out of it. Trade to Yeveh, even Pyrias and Talasse, would be faster overland, and transporting goods from a production center like Norea, near the mountains, to a trade center like Adapa, here at the junction of the two rivers, could be almost ten times faster with good roads."

"Ten times?" Elodie repeated. 

"At present, the trip averages ten days, and calls for caravans of pack animals; the roads are too rough and sometimes too narrow for carts. It's a distance that should be covered by wagons and carts in one to two days, with good roads and favorable weather."

"Favorable weather can't always be guaranteed," Elodie said, frowning.

"Have surveys been done of these proposed routes?" Banion asked. This wasn't going to be as easy as he'd hoped; convincing Elodie that they needed to fund surveyors, studies, a committee of some sort, that had been the plan. He'd expected the delegation to come with a general proposal — _build us roads!_ — not a map and planned routes, time estimates, and... what were all those other papers that bald fellow in the back was holding? Budget estimates? Most likely, at this rate. 

"In some cases, yes. Here, and here—" The leader began pointing at several of the broadest lines on their proposed road map. "We have been petitioning her Grace the Duchess for years, building our case, but the undertaking is vast. Your Majesties, we have here reports with our projected economic gains from this project, if we may present them to you." 

"You may approach," Elodie said, and Banion glanced at the papers with curiosity, looking for hard numbers. It was, indeed, an expensive undertaking. Elodie had yet to take on any extensive public works projects, but Banion knew from experience that schedules and budgets were weak and flimsy things that crumpled the moment the project came to life.

But he also knew how much was in the treasury, and roughly how much they brought in each year in taxes. He knew how much more they could bring in with minor adjustments to the taxes of Lillah specifically. He knew these roads needed to happen, and they were far closer to fruition than he'd realized. 

"As your Majesties can see—"

"Enough," Banion said. "You've convinced me. This is a much-needed improvement, and you'll have your Crown funding."

"Banion!" Elodie gasped, and then she hastily composed herself, and addressed herself to the merchants again. "This is a valuable improvement, I agree, but this is far too large a project to be approved so lightly! My consort and I will consult with our advisors and give you our _real_ , considered answer in three days' time," she said, firmly, and then, "You are excused, now."

Their thanks and their bows and their packing up of maps seemed to take forever, with Elodie's silent fury seething next to him, but in the end, the delegation had departed, and Elodie rose and swept from the room — much more impressive, when she was wearing a fur-lined cape — with Banion trailing in her wake. 

"Very cleverly done, Banion, thank you ever so much for that!" she snapped, as soon as they had closed the door behind them in the little chamber where they often had refreshments in the midst of long court sessions. 

"You'll have to forgive me for my enthusiasm, dearest, but I simply couldn't contain myself." 

"I could see that!" 

"I've been in the treasury recently, depositing those Lumen crystals Brin entrusted to me for our future children. And while I was there, I couldn't help but see how much wealth we hold in reserve. We have more than enough to fund the initial stage of this proposed plan." 

"Yes, I suppose we do, if we aren't also building those battleships you love so dearly! Did you think they were free? Did you think that saying we'd build them magicked away the money from the treasury?" 

"No, I did not!" But he had assumed that the payment had already gone to the shipwrights and that work was in progress, even if it might be on hold over the winter. "I did think the work might have progressed a _bit_ further by now. I take it this wasn't a priority!" 

"No, it's not, not when there are schools to build and cases to judge and there's still nothing we can do when a keythong decides to eat my subjects!"

They heard a cough from another room, and both suddenly fell silent, abashed. 

"Perhaps we should continue this discussion elsewhere," Banion said. 

"In our quarters," Elodie agreed. "Though I think you should go on ahead of me." 

Those were words to strike fear in any man's heart, but Banion simply smiled and said, "Of course, my love," if only for the gratification of her scowl and the angry snorting noise she made as she turned her back on him.

He was not _pacing_ in the sitting room of their chambers while he waited for Elodie. He simply got restless sitting still. But when he thought he heard noise outside he hastily positioned himself by the window, gazing out of it peaceably as if the leafless trees outside their window were the most riveting sight in the world.

"Well, Banion," Elodie said coldly, and he turned to her with a smile on his face.

"Yes, my darling?"

"I'm sure the letter you sent to Lillah around a month ago had nothing at all to do with your eager acceptance of this proposal?"

"How— What letter?" he managed, but he'd already failed. "Are you monitoring my mail?" 

"No, but perhaps I should start!"

"Then what basis—"

"My court musician is a spy. I'm sure you knew that already, given your own extensive intelligence network. But she's also befriended many of the servants, who occasionally bring her tidbits she might find interesting. And when you've finished writing and addressing your letters, who do you hand them to for mailing?"

Generally to one of the household servants; he only bothered with summoning one of his own messengers if he was sending a message across town, as with his early scheming with the military. 

"Some footman or maidservant takes letters from the king-consort's hands, addressed to half the duchies in the kingdom, when normally he only writes to his sister and his own administrators back in Maree. That's novel, so it goes to Sabine, as a bit of gossip, and Sabine stores it away until something happens with one of those duchies. And until her employer comes storming in, angry about her husband _again_ and wanting to know if he had any hand in this proposal he was so eager to accept." 

He sighed. "Very well, you caught me in the act. And what of it? You heard the merchants. Arisse authorized them, but they paid their own way. They've been wanting these roads for years, and Arisse won't foot the bill. If we do, we're the heroes, and we win valuable goodwill in a large and independent domain whose ruler could easily challenge you for your throne if she chose."

"Yes, and we enrich that already large and powerful domain at our expense!"

"We build toll roads," Banion said. "The first and largest roads are toll roads. The merchants will still pay for the increased speed, and the tolls will defray our expenses for the next phase. Increased trade in Lillah will result in more money being paid in taxes. Enriching Lillah will enrich all of Nova, Elodie, trust me on this."

"How am I supposed to trust you on matters of facts and figures when I can't trust you just to be honest about your intentions?" Elodie demanded. "Were you ever going to tell me you set all of this up?"

Of course not. He opened his mouth to lie, but she shook her head and turned away. "Of course you weren't," she said. 

"This way was just... easier."

"Easier how? Don't you really mean you don't want to come to me with a proposal where I can say yes or no without being put on the spot?"

"The treasury really can take it, Elodie! Battleships or no."

"Maybe so, but why don't you come to _me_ first? Solicit a delegation after that!"

"And if I come to you, and you say no, then what?" 

The question sounded foolish the moment it was out of his mouth. Of course she'd want him to simply accept it. She didn't even bother to answer, just gave him a look of withering scorn. 

"Fine, then," he said. "If you'll excuse me, I'll be in the stables."

Banion had loved horses ever since he could remember — since he was Brandon's age, most likely — and as far as he was concerned, the ability to buy every horse who struck his fancy was the greatest perk of his age and station. So he did what he'd always done, when he was angry, or frustrated, or he'd just had another proposal declined, or he needed to clear his head; he went to the stables, chatted with the grooms as they readied the mount he'd chosen, a spirited mare called Isabella, and then he rode.

Maybe it was the wind in his face as he urged Isabella up to a gallop. Maybe it was the fact that riding took him out of his own head because he had to pay attention to the horse, to its movements and mood. Maybe it was the physical exertion. Maybe it was all those things. But it had never failed him yet. 

He just wanted to be _king._ He was so close, and yet he'd never be any closer than this. He'd never simply be able to say the word and make his will manifest. His power would always be subordinate to Elodie's. She'd made that abundantly clear from the start; she'd made it abundantly clear during their betrothal, and during the wedding, and at every moment since. He'd thought it was a small price to pay for being married to a queen, after all those rejections from duchesses and countesses. And maybe it was. But it was still a price, and while Banion seldom felt the sting of any purchase, this was a bargain with bite.

But it was a bargain he'd made. He lived in the public eye. Should his marriage to Elodie dissolve — that was a thought with bite, too — the world would know, and have opinions. And he'd know those opinions. He paid a number of agents to make sure he knew the scuttlebutt in the pubs, the satirical songs and the unflattering caricatures. He'd lose what independent standing he still had left in Novan politics; his power would be tied entirely to his military, and to his relationship to Brin.

And he'd never be married again. He'd never have those surprisingly domestic dinners, the warm weight of a head on his shoulder, the sound of laughter that could bring out the sun on the longest night of the year. No one else would marry him. And even if he found some portionless younger daughter of a countess willing to take the queen's cast-off husband, some foreign duchess dogged by scandal at home, some wealthy commoner's daughter... she wouldn't be _Elodie_.

By the position of the sun in the wintry sky, he'd been riding for an hour or two by the time he walked Isabella back to the stable. He half expected to find Elodie there waiting for him, arms crossed, tapping her foot, but there was no sign of her, just a few bored grooms hanging around waiting for his return. 

There was also no sign of her in their chambers, so he returned to his office, to catch up on business in Maree — he really needed to make a visit back there, just to show his face and keep everyone on their toes — and to write, and then discard, a long letter to Brin lamenting his troubles. Brin had just delivered her son a few weeks ago, so even if she was otherwise inclined to lend him a sympathetic ear, he doubted she felt like it now. Even if she trusted the baby entirely to a wet-nurse and never looked at it, she'd need time to recover from the birth.

He dined alone, and amused himself in the library until it grew late enough that sleep seemed reasonable, if not precisely inviting. No sign of Elodie in the bedroom, naturally. He'd probably find her if he'd departed the library for her beloved archives, or, come to think of it, perhaps in the grove? She tended to go there when she was angry, melancholy, or fearful. But not after dark. It was still bitterly cold at nights, even if sunny days were sometimes positively pleasant. 

He went to bed, to toss and turn, though he eventually slept. Apparently, so did she; the next morning there was a divot in her pillow and lightly disarranged covers on one side of the bed. But, of course, no trace of Elodie herself.

It was early, he decided, looking at the slant of the pale light through the curtains. He could always lay back down and go to sleep. 

Or he could force himself out of the warmth of the covers, and make himself something approaching presentable, and go eat breakfast with his wife.

She looked up, her mouth open, wordless surprise written all over her face. "May I join you?" he asked, diffident and half-hoping she'd banish him back to bed, but when she nodded wordlessly, he was happy all the same. She rang for maids, and he seated himself while coffee and eggs and waffles slotted into place in front of him. The maids filed out. They both drew breath.

"So," they said, almost in unison, and then each laughed a little. 

"Go on," he added.

"No, I think I want to hear what you have to say, first."

He'd foreseen this. On the way downstairs, he'd had a very clear vision of Elodie awaiting his apology. So he steeled himself, and drew a deep breath, and said, "I'm sorry."

She nodded, awaiting more. What else? 

"If it matters, I didn't expect the delegation to be so... eager and well-prepared. I thought I was setting up a committee, a survey, perhaps." 

"But then you tried to answer for me when it turned out otherwise. And I'm certain you would have answered for me if we were only funding surveyors."

He bowed his head in assent, and she made a frustrated noise that didn't reach the level of words. 

"And now I have to decide. Do I stand by the decision that you _admit_ you made on a whim? Or do I reverse it, and make it clear to all who hear of it that the king-consort is in open rebellion against the queen?"

"I spoke on impulse, but that doesn't mean the whole matter is some whim, Elodie! You'll find the problem of overland trade in Lillah discussed in economic texts I read when I was in school. This is sorely needed and long overdue."

"I would feel much better about accepting your arguments if you'd just respond to what _I'm_ saying!" she almost shouted. Had he ever heard her raise her voice like that?

She took a few deep breaths. So did Banion.

"I understand that conundrum. I realize I put you in a dreadful position." He swallowed the _but_ that he was about to say next. 

"There are two ways we can operate, Banion. One is that we each support the other's endeavors, publicly and openly. We go together to dedicate buildings and schools. You publicly support Lumens, and I build roads and bridges and warships. Everyone will know that we're a team, working together, united on every important front." Her voice quavered a little, and she drew breath before she continued.

" _Or_ you can keep being sneaky and devious, as is your wont, try to undermine me and scheme against me, and we can hope that nearby enemies will think that we're too weak and divided to be any sort of threat. We can hope that, and hope they don't instead think that they should strike now, while we're weak and divided." 

There were angry tears in her eyes, and she turned her head and dashed them away. "Apparently that's the path we're taking. I'd hoped we might go with the other one! It worked for my mother and father! But I suppose I knew what I was getting into when I married you."

"I'm sorry," he said, helplessly. 

"Are you, really? Or will you just do the same thing the next time?"

Most likely. He was silent. 

"I don't want to _divorce_ you, Banion."

"And I don't want a divorce, either!" Very passionately so, in fact. Yet he was loath to start with the impassioned romantic declarations; it seemed unfair, though that concern had never stopped him in any previous relationship. Perhaps more to the point, he wasn't sure if his blandishments would work on Elodie. "But why marry me if you don't want me to contribute in any way to the running of the country? You could have chosen one of your schoolfellows, or some handsome, unimportant young earl who'd make you smile more. Why choose a man who's been running his own domain for a decade if you don't want his expertise?"

"I do want it! But I want you to be at my side, advising me, telling me your opinions, not sneaking around behind my back."

"You do?"

"Perhaps I should have said so, but at first I was sure you'd seek out every possible opportunity to give your opinion, whether I asked it or no. And then I thought you simply wanted to avoid me."

And after that, of course, they'd simply begun a belated honeymoon. "While I never bothered, because I assumed that you'd reject any proposals I brought to you out of hand."

"If you were that offended by the wedding apparel, you had an entire year to say something about it, you know." 

He smiled ruefully. "Elodie," he said, gently. "You said we could be united, or divided. But there's another option you haven't considered."

"What? I do everything your way?"

"No! Well, yes, that would be lovely, but I know you too well for that." She chuckled a little, and his heart squeezed at the sight. "No, I was going to suggest this: I continue to pursue my own endeavors. Perhaps not as... subtly as before. Perhaps I tell you about them, in the privacy of our rooms, at night. I will do my best. I can't guarantee I'll _always_ abandon my plans if you attempt to dissuade me, but I will try. Particularly if you do, sometimes, give me a hearing. If nothing else, you'll know what's coming." 

"I suppose that's better than the current state of affairs," she said doubtfully. 

"Hear me out," he said. "I tell you, but I don't tell anyone else I'm telling you. You keep catching me at it, thwarting me in public, scolding me in earshot of our servants or showing me up in front of the whole navy, that sort of thing. Everyone thinks we're working at cross-purposes, that I'm undoing your work just as swiftly as you undo mine. But in reality..."

"Aha..." she said, slowly. "So we can disarm our foes, while still working together. And ideally, you'll support me when it comes to a matter of war, or controversy, or Arisse using her increased wealth and power to foment insurrection." 

"Naturally," he said, hope kindling in his heart. "You and I can compromise. We've proved it in the past."

"I think you're mistakenly calling the military solution a compromise, when really I just did things your way and threw you a little bit of a punishment out of spite."

"It's called being tactful, Elodie. I know you're familiar with the concept."

"I just feel it's important to speak accurately when we're discussing serious matters," she said, folding her hands primly in her lap, and it was his turn to laugh. 

"We'll work on compromises," she said. "I don't agree that we have any history of achieving them before this."

"But you understand what I mean. If I come to you with a military proposal, perhaps you don't reject it out of hand, and tell me what you will accept, and then I go out and 'sneakily' push it through 'without your knowledge.' Later on you balance the budget by selling some of my horses and firing half the grooms."

"That doesn't seem very kind to the grooms!" 

"It doesn't seem very kind to me, selling my horses, but you're a vindictive young lady." 

"Excuse me," she protested. "I'm sure I didn't hear you properly. Perhaps I should review just how much we spend on your horses."

"Perhaps you should," he said resignedly. 

She giggled, her eyes bright. "All right, then," she said. "I think we can make this work. We can try, at least."

He rose from the table at last to take her hand, bow low over it, and press a kiss to her knuckles. Then, on impulse, he turned her hand over and kissed her palm. "I shall do my utmost," he said.


End file.
